


your eyes betray what burns inside you

by TheRaven



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: 95 percent BoP zsasz with a sprinkling of other incarnations, M/M, roman and victor have a terrible codependent relationship and i love it, weird sexual undercurrents that are never quite explicit but still definitely Happening, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRaven/pseuds/TheRaven
Summary: Roman Sionis likes to watch, and Victor Zsasz is happy to oblige.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	your eyes betray what burns inside you

It would have been kinder to set him free. Victor had considered it, certainly, had even come close a few times. He told himself that what kept Roman Sionis from shuffling off this mortal coil was not his own weakness, but _curiosity_.

Like now, curiosity regarding his employer’s rage. Roman Sionis is currently ranting to some hapless mafia underling tied to a chair in one of the many warehouses they used for interrogations. Face red with fury, spittle flying from his lips as he screams at the cowering wretch in front of him, Roman Sionis is truly a sight to behold. There have been some irregularities with the books, it seems, and this unfortunate man has been declared the guilty party.

Victor knows for a fact that the man is a scapegoat, but the spectacle is too much to resist. He calmly cleans his nails with the tip of a freshly-sharpened knife and waits for his employer to exhaust himself. The scapegoat’s muffled pleas fill the gaps between Roman’s accusations, mercifully drowning out the echo. Surely, this must be wrapping up soon.

He only listens to Roman’s rants when there is opportunity for escalation. But by this point, the words are meaningless to Victor. Roman Sionis will scream himself hoarse, possibly knocking the scapegoat around a bit in the process, and eventually, he will give Victor the signal to end it. Anticipation coils hot in his gut, and despite his intention to stay impassive during this display, Victor’s heartbeat quickens.

Ever so slightly.

Roman’s fury does that to him sometimes.

An endless moment later, Roman finally quiets, swiping hair away from his sweat-slick forehead and stumbling into the waiting armchair just out of the “splash zone,” as it were. He gestures toward Victor wordlessly and takes a deep, shaky breath. Victor spares him a glance, just enough to see the glint of _hunger_ in his eyes, and takes his place in front of the scapegoat.

“Poor little bird,” he croons, ghosting the edge of the knife down the scapegoat’s jaw.

The man redoubles his muffled pleas, and Victor is glad he cannot understand him. Tedious, this babbling always was--and mildly insulting, if he’s being honest. Victor is here to free this man from the stinking cesspool that is this world, and all he can do is cry out to stay? Stay _here_ , in this decaying husk of meat and blood?

Sometimes, he pities them.

Behind him, Roman makes a small, low sound. Approval. Or perhaps impatience. Victor smiles, letting the blade drag a little more firmly down the other side of the scapegoat’s jaw. A line of red springs forth, tiny beads joining together until they gather in a drop of blood that hits the scapegoat’s lapel and is absorbed into the polyester. Hm. Now he has to match the cut on the other side, or Roman will be cross with him.

Finally, he starts in earnest, slicing through thin flesh and scraping against the skull as he curves the knife down and under the chin. The scapegoat is screaming now, trying to wriggle away from the knife, and Victor has to hold his head still with one hand to make a clean cut. More screaming, violent shuddering, and the skin falls away like the last petal of a dying flower. Sightless white globes stare up at him from a mass of pink and red. _Still_ more screaming.

Victor, merciful creature he has always been, makes one more cut to open the carotid and hasten the wretched thing’s release.

Behind him, as the screams fade to gurgles and then to silence, Roman Sionis takes in shallow, stuttering breaths. Victor does not have to turn to know his employer’s pose: head thrown back, throat bared and eyes fluttering closed in bliss. When it is only the two of them, Roman Sionis does not have to hold back. Never _has_ held back. Victor lets himself linger as he wipes his blade clean on the corpse’s sleeve, listening to his employer’s breathing and allowing the heat of satisfaction consume him, if only for a moment, before he turns to present him with the newest face for his collection.

“Well done,” Roman Sionis sighs, raising his head just enough to look him in the eye. “I think _somebody_ deserves a bonus for that one.”

It would be easy, right now, to close the gap between them and cut deep into the throat still bared for him. Ready. Waiting. If he knew, would he have Victor killed? Would he have time to give the order before the blade took his voice and set him free? Victor places the face into the waiting receptacle and takes a step closer.

Roman Sionis is still sprawled languidly in the armchair, face flushed and breaths uneven, though a bit slower and deeper now. At Victor’s approach, a grin spreads across his face, and he beckons him closer. One more order of business before they can go.

Roman Sionis likes to watch, and Victor Zsasz is happy to oblige.

Victor kneels, just far enough away from the chair that Roman would have to get up to touch him. Not that Roman _would_ , in this moment. They both know how this goes. But better not to tempt him, anyway.

He kneels, letting his eyes fall closed, and raises the blade to a spot on his cheek with just enough room for another tally mark. Another monument to another wretched soul he has set free. The blade caresses his flesh, drawing out the hot, red blood and leaving behind the latest mark, one of the hundreds that make his body a living temple to their memory.

Victor opens his eyes to see Roman’s boring into him. No longer sprawled across the armchair like a hastily-thrown coat, Roman Sionis grips the armrests with bone-white fingers, tendons standing out like piano wire on the backs of his hands. He’s frozen, leaning forward as though straining against an invisible force that draws him toward the scarred man before him. 

Victor stands, and the spell is broken.

Roman Sionis sinks back into the chair with a satisfied sigh, grinning.

“Have the driver bring my car around,” he says with a vague gesture towards the exit. “And call the, ah, the cleaners. Don’t need to leave this one sitting around; word’ll spread without letting the fucker rot in here.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” says Victor, already reaching for his phone.

A beat, and Roman Sionis looks pointedly away from Victor and back at the corpse.

“You go on ahead,” he says softly. “I just want to, ah, admire your handiwork a little longer.”

Victor grins.

“I’ll have the car waiting when you’re finished.”

Roman scoffs but lets him go.


End file.
